Painful Victories
by typedamon
Summary: Jill Valentine is fighting valiantly for a past she cannot remember. Plagued and haunted by a manner of disturbing images, she fights to remember herself, and the one person she had always felt safe with.
1. Chapter 1

Her feet were carrying her at a rapid pace across the field, her heart pounding relentlessly against her rib cage. Beads of swear trickled into her eyes. Her entire body was wet. She didn't stop until she skidded through the elaborate double doors that seemed to emerge from nowhere and heaved them shut behind her. As the lock clicked into place, she drew back from the double doors, drinking in her new surroundings as he body trembled with exhaustion.

She found herself standing in an impressive entrance hall, so cavernous that she was convinced if she yelled, her voice would rumble off of the ceiling, echoing around her. The floor was black and white tiled with a crimson, blood red carpet that led up an enormous grand staircase. Everything in sight was magnificent. All she truly knew was that whoever owned the elaborate mansion was filthy rich… not that it would matter in their current predicament.

_Their?_ Her head darted wildly around as she tried to figure out who "they" were. The minute her mind had feebly attempted to work out her perplexing thoughts, voices echoed across the vast entrance room. The voices… they were loud, yet frustratingly muffled. She couldn't distinguish a single word from the buzzing echo that she instinctively knew were the voices of the people with her.

Sharp and loud, a piercing crack jerked her instantaneously from her bewilderment. _Gunfire._ As the buzzing voices began again, she found her eyes drawn to her hands. Her leather gloved fingers were curled tightly around the handle of a berretta, her forefinger already resting on the trigger. Without really knowing why, she stalked across the entrance hall toward another set of double doors. Just before she had a chance to open them, one of the voices met her ears.

"_Be careful."_

Two shadowy figures stood on the other side of the hall, one with an arm outstretched towards her. She acknowledged the unknown voice with a simple nod before pulling the double doors open and entering the next room.

As the doors clashed shut behind her, she immediately felt as if she had been completely isolated by something. A heavy silence had fallen, only interrupted by the rhythmical ticking of an ancient grandfather clock that stood against the wall opposite her. Looking around her, she realised with an inkling of amusement, that the grand furnishings were definitely going to be a repetitive theme throughout the sprawling mansion.

Where the entrance hall had been magnificent, the dining room was beautiful and exquisite. An incredibly long dining table was in the centre of the room, gleaming under the light of an immense crystal chandelier. A huge fireplace occupied one of the shorter walls in the rectangle room, a fire still blazing merrily away within the grate. It seemed as if someone had been in the mansion recently. The dancing flame directed her eyesight to an emblem of a coat of arms above the fireplace. Curiosity getting the better of her, she removed it from the slot in the wall before sliding it into her tactical belt.

Unable to find anything else of interest, she made her way over to a solitary door. She stepped through, gripping the gun tightly as her mind told her that whoever had fired their gun was very close.

She had been expecting some king od antechamber or something that usually went alongside a dining room; perhaps even a kitchen. She was vaguely surprised when instead she found herself in a small yet elegant corridor with highly polished wooden flooring. The papered walls were lined with small yet quality oil paintings, framed in gold. Most were depicting beautiful and tranquil scenery, something that seemed like it could never exist on Earth. However, peaceful was not the word to describe the way she felt in that second.

Uneasiness had overwhelmed her. She moved slowly and cautiously. To her right, at the end of the corridor, stood three doors. After trying them each and being satisfied that they were locked, she sighed heavily before retracing her steps. She paused where the corridor broke off to the right. The end of the corridor was softly lit. It should have been comforting, but it did absolutely nothing for her rapid heartbeat. Every instinct in her body screamed for her not to look around that corner.

As a hot fever broke across her body, she turned the corner.

She froze in terror.

A body, wearing a uniform she vaguely recognized in the foggy area at the back of her mind was laying flat out across the floor. It was doused in bright red blood that had pooled on the Persian rug beneath it. There was a man, crouched low over the body. He made wet squelching noises - _eating_ noises. Then, he sensed her presence.

Agonizingly slowly, he turned his head. His skin was greying, his flesh rotting. The stench of decay and death infiltrated her nostrils, triggering her gag reflex. It leered at her, pieced of flesh visible between it's teeth as blood dripped down it's chin. It's eyes were a shocking electric blue, inhuman, full of nothing but animalistic rage and the promise of death.

In that moment, she knew what fear truly was. It gripped her, paralysing her to the spot and a scream exploded from her lungs in a burst of air. The gun was forgotten. All she had was the power of her lungs to scream for help. She screeched and wailed, tears falling rapidly down her cheeks as she thrashed on the spot, pleading with herself to be able to move.

• • •

"Jill! _Enough!_" Her eyes snapped open. "I think we'll leave it there for today."

Jill Valentine took deep gulps of air, revelling in the cool freshness of the clear air. Her heart rate was beginning to slow as she took in the familiar surroundings of the room. Doctor Walder's practice room. Jill was lying back on the low bed, beside an open window. The room was relatively small and fairly bare, with no homely touches other than a small photograph of an sea front and wooden pier above a tidy desk. There was an old, stained coffee table in the centre of the room with a squashy and comfortable looking armchair beside it where Doctor Walder always sat when he was speaking with her.

Jill sat up, looking for the man. He was standing with his back to her, filing something away in the top drawer of his grey cabinet.

"Well done," Doctor Walder turned to her, his lined face crinkling into a craggy smile. He ran a hand over his balding head. "Although the ending was less than desirable, you made very positive progress. You got inside the mansion!"

Jill bit her lip. "Not that it was useful."

"Oh it was _very _useful. You gave a lot of detail, much more than you ever have before." Doctor Walder reassured her, still smiling gently. He took a lengthy mouthful of coffee from his mug, swallowing loudly and smacking his lips. Jill half-smiled. He reminded her of her grandfather when she was a child.

Although there was barely a change in his countenance, Jill caught a flicker of uncertainty cross his face. "Jill…" his voice was hesitant. "I'm going to ask you to do something before you return for our next session. I wouldn't normally ask a patient to think long and hard about things away from my side, but I believe you are strong enough to do so. I want you to try as hard as you can to work out who the people who entered the mansion with you were. Don't even bother thinking about that creature - think of the _people._"

Jill nodded as Doctor Walder sat down in his armchair. He leant forward and scrawled something on to two separate pieces of paper. "The date for our next session, call me if you need to rearrange. There's also a prescription for sleeping pills, since you look like the walking dead." He handed Jill the prescription, frowning at her seriously. "I advise you actually get them this time."

"I don't like using pharmaceuticals." Jill stated. "Not since the mansion incident…" Then her jaw clamped shut as she realised she had just learnt why she had refused to take pills and other drugs.

Doctor Walder stared at her with an unfathomable expression in his brown eyes. Waving goodbye, Jill dropped the prescription into the recycling basket in the waiting room, completely ignoring the overly cheerful receptionist.

Finally, she had been able to remember something she had never recalled before. But instead of the elation that Jill had always imagined would accompany the fact she could actually remember something about herself, Jill felt frustration mount within her. Just what had happened in that mansion to make her so afraid?

_A/N: I've began my first Resident Evil fanfic, don't be harsh on me because im useless lol. R&R if you please, I really enjoyed writing this :D. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Another one dead. _Broken and twisted, the body lay haphazardly across the floor, lifeless limbs cold and floppy. Chris Redfield pressed his lips together in a grim line, disgusted by the undignified way in which the corpse had been left: naked at the side of a road, her pale porcelain skin turning a mottle shade of blue from the cold winter air. Judging from the way her ribs jutted out painfully against her skin, the young female had been in a poor condition before she had died. His eyes raking over her prominent collar and hip bones, Chris realised sadly that maybe death had meant freedom to the youth.

Each body that Chris and his team had discovered in the village had showed no obvious signs of a struggle; they appeared to have died from natural causes. In the latest case, the cause of death was most likely her lack of nourishment. At least that's what logical thinking told him.

His gut however, argued a different story.

It was unnatural - an entire village dying at what appeared to be at the same time, wiped out by some kind of non-existant plague that left absolutely no traces? No, there was something else at work there. A sickening feeling of deja vu was coursing through Chris' mind. _Judging from my track record, this will probably turn out the same._

"Hey!" Chris called across the other side of the desolate street, capturing the attention of the six armed males, all investigating various different things within the same areas. Each of them looked around almost instantly. "Come here."

When his team had assembled around him, Chris allowed them to quietly digest the sight of the dead girl. As he had predicted, expressions of concern were flashing across each members face. Wincing, Jackson Peters, his new second in command, carefully averted his eyes, gazing at Chris. "What the hell are we dealing with?"

"I wish I knew myself," Chris said bluntly, rubbing the back of his gloved hand across his forehead. Not for the first time in his life, Chris found himself wishing he had picked an easier life. If he hadn't been filled with the determination to stop 'bad people' from an early age, he wouldn't be finding himself in such taxing environments. "Look, this is starting to look agonizingly familiar to me, so please, be vigilant."

A knowing look was shared among his team. Again, it was Jackson who spoke up, his hands curling tighter around the gun. "The director told me you had yourself some superhuman instincts. What are they telling you now?"

Chris half smiled at his second in command. So far, Jackson had proved to be everything that the BSAA Director had promised - inquisitive, calm and well trained. He had also been surprisingly loyal, particularly when Chris had thrown him the most obscure commands in their training missions. It seemed that Jackson trusted him entirely. "My gut is definitely telling me to be ready for what we all know is probably around the corner."

Chris' instincts were something that he'd never really been comfortable with. It wasn't that they were wrong; he could hardly remember a time when he had been wrong about a gut feeling. It was usually due to the fact he only really felt those instincts when something bad was about to happen... the more intense the feeling, the worse it tended to be._  
_

"So, what's _really_ around the corner then?"

• • •

A zombie, blood trickling slowly down it's chin. She gritted her teeth, head raised, shoulders rolled back, hands gripped firmly around the gun. _I will not lose it._

The only thought that kept Jill Valentine focused was the thought of the two faceless strangers in the entrance hall. They were only separated by a dining room. She would gun down this abomination, and then she would be back to them. Jill sucked in lungfuls of air, her eyes watering from the foul stench that filled her nose and mouth. As the creature clambered to it's feet, clothing stained with blood of the lifeless man on the floor behind it, Jill fought back a strong wave of nausea. She bit on the inside of her cheek, hard. Tasting the coppery hint of her own blood, Jill squeezed the trigger, firing the round.

The bullet tore into the zombie's chest, tearing through it's forehead in an explosion of blood and gore. Sticky, thick tendrils of blood coated the large painting behind it's head. The creature dropped to it's knees, slowly flatting out against the floor, headless and completely dead. A heavy sigh puffed out of Jill's lips. Her breath came heavily, as she turned to leave the corridor, her legs still trembling a little as she flung the door open behind her.

As she stood in the vast dining hall, her all body overcome with exhaustion. Jill felt incredibly tired, exhausted by the effort it took not to be hopelessly consumed by fear. For some reason, she got the impression that she hadn't always been so desperately afraid of everything. She had been wary, cautious but never truly afraid... Frustration coursed through Jill. Being lost was bad, but being lost within your own mind? It was terrifying. She didn't understand anything.

Fed up of constantly reminding herself of how useless she had become, Jill reminded herself that she was in that mansion for a reason. She had never started in there, set out to go in there for nothing. Jill and those that had accompanied her had been there. Tearing from the room the dining hall, a new purpose raging through her body, pumping it with adrenaline. As she fired into the surprisingly empty entrance hall of the mansion the room dissolved. Jill's eyes snapped open as her own apartment occupied her senses.

Still gripped by the dream of her troubled past, a single word exploded from her lips.

"Chris?!"

* * *

_A/N: oh good lord this was awful, especially the ending of this just felt so choppy and awful. anyhow i hope anyone following this enjoyed it and whatnot, please review if you're feeling like it, constructive crit also makes me happy! :D likewise if there's anything you don't quite understand then please ask. _

_oh yeah, i also decided to take the whole Barry saving her from the first zombie of RE1 out, as he has minimal influence to this story. ty for reading guys :D_


	3. Chapter 3

"Chris, Chris Redfield." The name rolled easily off of Jill's tongue. It felt natural, like she had been saying it for the biggest part of her life. Her lips twitched upwards into a small smile of triumph. Doctor Walder sat in his usual armchair, his fingertips his hands together in front of him as he regarded her with an expression that was more than simply a Doctor being pleased with his patient's progress.

He looked ecstatic.

"Well done!" His craggy, lined face split into a wide smile, his eyes reduced to a softness that made Jill proud. The man had been a big part of her life in the last few months. His treatment and support had been invaluable to her - and it was thanks to him that she was finally finding herself. Although the hours that Jill had spent in his office, laying across the battered couch in a hypnosis orientated sleep had been painful, they had brought about small triumphs. Little by little, Jill was starting to feel _human_ again.

"I'm sorry that I can't remember the other person's name yet," Jill added, leaning forward to pick up her small glass of water off of the stained coffee table.

"No, no, it will come in time. Small victories my girl, small victories." Walder rubbed his hands together, his grey eyes twinkling like aged stars. "I just need to speak to Vivian to alter some appointments, since I think we should have a chat about what to do next. I'll be back soon." Doctor Walder got to his feet and marched from the room with a purposeful stride. Not for the first time, Jill found herself wondering how a man of his age could be so fit and agile, particularly when all he appeared to do was sit in a chair, picking his patient's brains all day. Jill caught herself, feeling slightly bad for judging him - despite the amount of time she had spent with him, she didn't really know Walder at all. It was funny, how he knew everything about a patient, yet the patient's in turn knew nothing about their doctor.

Jill placed the glass back down on the coffee table and cast her eyes around the room. She had become so familiar with the details... she always became familiar with the details. Sometimes, Jill scared herself a little. She could remember things so clearly, picture them so vividly in her mind. She knew she could probably navigate her way around the practice with her eyes shut whilst she was dizzy. The realization of the fact she could remember things so clearly frustrated her beyond belief since her mind had made her own past so out of bounds. Rubbing her temples, Jill closed her eyes and tried to put a face to the name she knew. For a while, she just sat still, enjoying the fact that she had managed to recall a name at least.

It made her feel different. Like a new person. Or maybe... it was more like she was finding the one that she used to be.

_Chris Redfield._ When Jill thought of the stranger, a feeling she couldn't quite fully understand spread through her body. It was warming, making her feel cosy and... _secure._ Like she was safe. Whoever this man had been to her - he had made her feel protected. Jill's eyelids fluttered open, her smile fading to a grim look of determination. She had never experienced such an overwhelming feeling of security before. She was going to do whatever it took to find him.

• • •

"Well... this is a fucking mess." Jackson rubbed a hand across his forehead, flicking away beads of perspiration that had gathered on his brow. Chris looked at the blood sodden ground around them. It was littered with torn up bodies, bodies that had just clambered to their feet, with the sole purpose of feeding. On living flesh - ready to spread the infection further.

"It's a god damn fucking mess," Chris agreed quietly, his eyes falling on the naked girl who had just tried to tear a lump of flesh from his arm. Now she was lying still, a bullet marking the space between her eyes. It was wrong, how someone could even think of letting loose a virus that destroyed everything in it's path. Anger twisted it's way through Chris' body, causing his vision to blur. The virus had taken away too much. He had lost Raccoon, S.T.A.R.S, Piers... _her._ He wouldn't let them take anything else away from him.

"Jackson!" Chris barked, his voice carrying against the deathly silence of the dead village. "I need you to communicate with headquarters - tell them we've got a bio-hazard on our hands."

"A biohazard?" Peter Watson's jaw dropped as he looked between Jackson and Chris. "But we've just got rid of all of these surely it's-"

"Peter, you don't think this is the end do you?" Chris stared at the young male. He spoke slowly so that his team would understand the severity of the situation. "People who use these viruses don't stop. This is the warning bell."

Jackson gave a nod before strolling down the pathway to radio in to headquarters. Again, Chris found himself looking to the eyes of a group of determined men, who would fight with him until the end. _But there will not be an 'end' this time._ Chris thought, adamant that they would all survive the new hell. Frustration mounted as Chris looked around him, his eyes tracking over the neat lines brick houses with gardens that were once carefully tended to. Now the village would rot. Nobody would want to take up a house in a place that had been infected with a deadly strain of a virus that snatched away your humanity and caused you to snatch away people's flesh.

Chris' eyes landed on a large town, just in the distance, tall buildings visible over the wall that ran around the perimeter. He was instantly reminded of Raccoon City, the place where he was born, where he grew up... where he trained for S.T.A.R.S, where he was deceived by Albert Wesker. Closing his eyes, Chris found that he could picture every detail like he had been there yesterday. His apartment, a little small and fairly messy. He'd had a habit of leaving the TV on, but Barry Burton had always told Chris that it was a good plan - if potential burglars were going to break in, they'd think someone was still home. Brad Vickers had always laughed, telling Chris that it was just extra bills he had to pay.

An image of the S.T.A.R.S headquarters loomed in his mind. His desk, always messy with CDs and their cases lying carelessly across it, pens thrown down all over the place, posters of cars taped at odd angles on the wall. Behind him... she had been. Jill Valentine. She was the opposite of him, everything neat and orderly. She had always chastised him for being such a slob, for dumping his leather bomber jacket onto her seat. She had always thrown him a playful glare before hanging it up onto the hook on the wall. He felt his lips curve upwards into a smile. He and Jill had always been so... effective. They knew each other inside out, could operate on just looks alone. Even when they seperated, there was still the element of team work... the Mansion Incident was proof enough of that.

Chris' hand moved involuntarily to his shoulder, his fingertips resting lightly in the place where her head had been gently rested as Brad Vickers flew them to safety. They were partners. But more than that, they'd had a bond that went further than friendship. They had experienced things together that nobody else could quite understand. Through every significant battle, they had been with each other. In mind, or body... it didn't matter.

Then the virus had ruined it.

• • •

_"You're too close to this," __Director Wing pursed his lips together, his eyes sad as he looked at the blonde woman who stared blankly at the wall over his shoulder. She made no acknowledgement that he had spoke, but remained impassive, the only sign that she wasn't a statue the shallow rise and fall of her chest, still clad in the leather battle suit. "If things were different, then believe me, I would allow you to stay on... but I think you need to figure yourself out, live like someone who hasn't fought their whole life. You are too close to the situation, Jill."_

_A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Jill Valentine lifted her chin so that her eyes met Wing's. "Believe me, I know that." Wing shook his head sadly, his eyes quiet as they traveled up and down Jill's body. The toll that being Wesker's pet had taken on her was obvious. Chris bit the inside of his cheek as he took in just how haggard and worn down she appeared. It was cruel. Jill had devoted her life to destroying BOW's, then in a turn of events, she was used to spread them. Chris felt a strong pang of guilt. It was his fault that everything had been destroyed for her. She had jumped out of that window with Wesker. _

_A lump formed in Chris' throat as his replayed the scene for what felt like the millionth time in his head. The feeling of his neck being crushed, the breath choked away as Wesker's iron grip closed down his neck. At the time, Chris had thought there wasn't anything in the world that could be as bad struggling futilely in the hands of the man who had destroyed almost everything dear to you. And then Jill had tackled him through that window, and time had seemed to slow down. But it didn't slow down fast enough. As his agonized scream escaped his lips, Chris flung his hand forward, catching nothing but air as he watched his partner tumble to her doom, still clutched to Albert Wesker._

_"I have some things I need to collect." Jill's quiet voice brought Chris back to reality. She didn't even look at him as she strode past, slipping through the doors of Wing's office and out into the corridor. _

_"You understand why I have to do this?" Wing asked quietly, his brown eyes pleading with Chris to understand. "It's for her mental health, for her well-being. She needs to be allowed to settle, to be the person she was before the Mansion Incident all those years ago. Please tell me you understand." _

_Chris gazed at the man, feeling like his skull was splitting in two. Giving Jill a chance at a life, a normal life, seemed like it was fair. She deserved to live away from the pain of watching everyone around you battling through their demons as they tackled BOW's. Yet the BSAA had become her life. She had been one of the eleven founders. She had faced every BOW imaginable, she had seen every horror that Chris had. And she was not weak. She had a spirit that knew no bounds, a cool face in the time of a crisis... but now had that caught up with her? Without giving the Director an answer, Chris left the room to seek out his partner._

_He found her in her office, leaning against the wall, her hands covering her face. Chris swallowed back the emotion that was building in him. He would be strong for her. She had been strong for him. _

_"Jill?" She withdrew her hands from her face. She wasn't crying, but there was a grief that shook Chris inside. She gazed at him with blue eyes, showing an inner storm. _

_"They aren't going to let me do this anymore." She spoke so softly her voice barely met Chris' words. "No matter what they say, they aren't going to let me come back to this when I've 'sorted' myself." She air quoted the word sorted before she shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. Jill turned her back on Chris, beginning to open drawers of her desk at random, rifling through them. _

_"Jill, there's still a chance-"_

_"No, Chris," she interrupted him, a wan smile on her pale face. "stop trying to find a solution for me. You need to fight. Because I know at the end of all of this bioterrorism, that it's going to be you who ends it. But while I can't do this anymore, you need to fight. You need to battle on - for, for so many reasons. Do it for Raccoon, for our families, for Claire, for every person in the world who's been hurt by this vile cause." Jill paused lifting her blue eyes to meet Chris' brown. "Do it for me."_

_"But what will you do?" Chris murmured, his eyes burning. _

_"I'll be ok. I'm always ok." She let out a small chuckle at Chris' doubtful expression. "Remember Chris, I'm a survivor."_

_"How will I know that you'll be ok?" _

_Jill found what she was looking for in the desk. She scrunched it up, pushing it into the small pocket space of the battle suit. She moved closer to him, her warm hands holding onto his. A single tear escaped from her eye left eye, tracking slowly down her cheek. "Don't you trust your partner?" She cut off his chance of reply by leaning forward, a gentle kiss from her grazing his cheeks. And just like that, she was gone._

* * *

_a/n: how about this for a quick update? : ) _


	4. Chapter 4

It was a monumental fuck up. This had not been part of the plan. Mayor Portford rubbed a hand across his forehead, his heart racing as he cast his eyes across the urgent document that had just been passed through to him by his secretary. They had promised, _promised_ that the situation would be cleared up. His city, his beloved thriving city that was just able to stand on it's own two feet were not supposed to be at risk of exposure. It wasn't what they had agreed on. Portford slammed his fist into his ornate desk, his entire body trembling as the realisation of the events that would occur. He fought the urge to let out a wild scream.

A deal was a deal. Why didn't people uphold honorable values any more? Cursing himself for being such a naive old fool, Portford turned his back on the document, staring out of the window at his view over the city. That wretched old man had promised that things wouldn't come to this. Portford had turned a blind eye on the little village on the outskirts of the city at his request for a 'trial run' over the virus. The old man had swore to Portford that he would clear up, leave no traces behind. Portford clenched his fists as he drank in the scenery that stretched out before him.

Sunningdale was a pretty place. It was scenic, tidy and well sculptured. Even the 'lesser' accommodation available for the residents of the city looked like modern, state of the art condos. Portford had fallen in love with the city. Everything was dear to him, from the large airy green park in the city to center, to the tranquil blue lake on the eastern most side of the city. And it was all about to be ripped away from him... and there wasn't a fucking single damn thing he could do about it._  
_

• • •

Jill loved running. The cold air seemed to soothe her troubled mind. The only pain she had to worry about was the feeling of electric strain rippling through the muscles in her legs. But still, no matter how much they protested, she drove them on, a little further each time. Jill had admitted to herself several months ago that when she ran, she felt like she was outrunning her problems. When she had mentioned this to Doctor Walder, he had smiled gently at her, reminding her that no matter how much she drilled herself, the problems would still be there the minute she stopped.

Jill skidded to a halt on the pavement as cars whizzed past her. Surprisingly, Jill realised that she felt no real toll on her breathing. Since she hadn't ran in a good few days, Jill had almost accepted to be heaving a little by the time she had met the halfway point. She stood at the side of the road, waiting for the stream of traffic to subside and to be able to continue her jog.

"Still training for that marathon?" A familiar voice sounded behind her. Jill smiled before she turned around, already knowing who it would be. A man, clad in an expensive navy blue suit with a shirt that was unbuttoned at the top was smiling at her, his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he looked at her. Xander Portford had become a familiar face to Jill in the year that she had lived in Sunningdale. Not only had she seen him on the television, standing quietly beside his father, Mayor Portford, but he had a habit of sitting in the cafe beside the crossing that Jill took.

"Still stalking me?" Jill teased, smiling at the man. He laughed, his chest shaking gently with the sound.

"Well, even if I was stalking you, I'm sure you wouldn't mind it considering how handsome and rich I am." Despite the fact that Xander was born in the States, he had a flawless English accent. His father, Mr Moneybags, had sent him to England for a 'proper' public school education. Xander had stayed with close family friends for the best part of his life, and returned to Sunningdale when he had finished his education with a degree in Medical Science. Jill sighed at him, shaking her head.

"Xander, if anything is a turn off it's an enormous ego," she looked over her shoulder to see the traffic lights turning to amber. "well, I've got to dash, there are things I need to be doing."

"Ok, I'll call you later I want to talk to you about someth-" Jill raised a hand, cutting him off before she took off down the road, her speed increasing almost instantly. Her legs were moving rapidly as she started her run again, leaving Xander on tenterhooks. Jill knew exactly what Xander was going to ask her - it wouldn't be the first time he had attempted to take her out to one of his father's extravagant parties. Thankfully, time had always saved Jill; she'd always been off before she'd had a chance to give him her phone number. No matter how many times she managed to evade Xander's desires, he still hadn't been put off.

As handsome as he was, and of course, rich, Jill had never been able to muster enough interest in him. The majority of the female population of Sunningdale swooned at the sight of him. Jill however thought he was good-looking and nice, and that's as far as her thoughts went. She was neither intrigued by him, nor did she care what he thought of her. She just didn't feel... _it._ As far has her tattered memory went, Jill could remember someone hurting her badly. A boyfriend she had had, when she was still in the police force. After that, Jill had sworn to herself that she would only be with someone when she knew it was real. They had to be more than a person she was in a relationship with. They had to be her partner.

_Partner._

Jill ground to a halt. Her eyes snapped shut, acting of their own accord. For an unknown reason, her heart was clenching tightly in her chest. A lump of formed in her throat as she felt tears prick at the back of her shut eyes. _Why do I feel like this?_ And then her own voice echoed in her hears. "Don't you trust your partner?" Jill's eyes opened, and a single tear slid down her cheek.

• • •

Chris remained seated in his chair even after the flickering image of Director Wing had faded from the computer projection device Peter Watson had set up. The cogs and gears of his mind were whirring at a rapid pace. There was definitely something up with the man. Director Wing had seemed on edge, jittering on the spot with an overly clenched jaw and tightly knotted brow. The tension had been so clear, his entire body rigid as he jiggled on the spot, unable to remain still. It was like he was going through a nervous breakdown. Chris could hardly blame Wing for being so uneasy about the latest news they'd give him. Another mass biohazard outbreak was hardly what the BSAA needed. They didn't exactly have the numbers anymore to deal with mass situations.

Chris rubbed his forehead, sighing heavily. He himself had lost many men at the hands of Umbrella's fucked up virus'. Now that there was another one that he was positive would be set on the loose to wreak havoc... it crushed him. Everytime that they made one victory that Chris seemed to think was significant, something even worse would crop up else where. They were victories - and with battle they won, the losses were excruciating. Small, minuscule painful victories. Sometimes, Chris found himself questioning whether it was worth it anymore. They never seemed to be getting anywhere, it was always the same problems that cropped up in a different part of the world. It was taxing. At first, Chris had felt accomplishment with every BOW that he or a member of his team destroyed, but more often that in recent months, it left him with a hollow emptiness. The empty feeling of despair that welled up within your body when there was the realisation that maybe you can't win.

"I think that man is starting to crack." Jackson's calm voice caused Chris to surface from his thoughts. He looked across to the other side of the table, where Jackson's face was creased into a look halfway between concern and being amused. "If he is, it isn't healthy that he's commanding the BSAA."

Peter paused where he was packing the computer back into it's protective case, his breath catching a little in his throat. His eyes darted from Chris to Jackson, as if he expected some kind of argument to begin. Of course, that wasn't going to be the case. Chris whole-heartedly agreed with his second in command: someone who was mentally unstable shouldn't be responsible for giving orders to men and women who put their necks on the line every day.

"I agree," Chris said, keeping his voice easy as he scraped back the chair, wincing slightly at the shriek of the wooden chair legs against the old cracked flagstones of the kitchen floor. They had taken up a temporary residence in one of the homes on the very outskirts of the minuscule village, with large windows that gave them a view that covered the surrounding area. Three of the other members of Chris' team were scouting the near vicinity for any other hostiles.

Jackson drummed his fingers impatiently against the kitchen table. Chris quietly observed his second in command. There was tension through Jackson's shoulders, and his jaw was set in a way that made it look as if he was trying hard to remain still and calm. "Hey, take it easy."

Jackson looked up at Chris' voice, an embarrassed smile spilling across his cheeks. He stopped tapping his finger tips against the table and curled his hands into fists. "Sorry, this is just a bit of an intense situation to be in right now."

Chris chuckled quietly, leaning back in his chair placing his arms behind his head. He knew exactly how Jackson felt. Chris had been involved in bio-warfare more times than he cared to remember... and it never got easier. The worries were always the same. The fear of losing your team, the fear of losing your own life, the fear of losing the world. Sometimes, Chris even felt obliged to send a little prayer to whatever God that may or may not be looking over the world.

"They're back," Peter practically jumped out of his chair, launching himself to the back door of the house. He yanked it open, ushering Tim, Alex and Grant into the kitchen before he slammed the door and bolted it swiftly behind them.

"Looks like Wing isn't the only who's cracking..." Jackson murmured, an eyebrow raised as he looked over at Peter. Chris ignored the comment and looked over at his three men, waiting patiently for a report on how things were.

"Completely desolate out there," Grant explained as he pulled off his thick black gloves and dropped them on the table top. "There is no sign of life whatsoever, no movement at all. I think we wiped them all out when we were in the village square."

Jackson shook his head beside Chris. "I know it's a small village, but I don't think we took enough down that covers the population of this village."

Chris closed his eyes, picturing the girl that had been left naked at the side of the road. He pictured how painfully thin she was, her ribs pushing against her pale white skin. The rest of the inhabitants of the village were probably already dead, wiped out by some other illness that had hit long before the virus. A small prickle of worry snaked up his spine. For some reason, Chris couldn't help but feel as if the whole thing had been set up. A bunch of weak, sick humans that nobody would miss or worry about, where they were too frail to question what was happening around them. The more Chris thought, the more questions he had. They needed answering. Fast.

* * *

_a/n: so sorry that this took so long, i can only write when i get spurts of inspiration and then the words just come tumbling out onto the screen, ive probably made about a hundred mistakes in this chapter because i was too lazy to proof read it! (take away points for that, but give them back for honesty?) _

_so, next chapter, maybe Chris and his team will hash out some possible answers as to what really happened in the little village... maybe they won't. ;) maybe Jill will get another piece of her memories back... maybe she won't. ;) maybe Dr Walder will turn into a pig... maybe he won't. ;)_

_also, feel free to follow me on twitter: hevharv i am a lonesome trollop! _


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